


hearts rebuilt from hope

by orlesiantitans



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22323301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: Before Exegol, Rey and Poe were separate entities, around one another but keeping out of each other's orbit, keeping their distance.After Exegol, they find their lives have been entwined far longer than they can remember.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	1. Prologue One: Rey

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multi-chapter I've done in a while. Taking a break from Damerey Daily 2020 to bring you this, because my work schedule is a little easier to work around with multi-chapter fics than it is single-chapter. 
> 
> Title from "The River of Winged Dreams" by Aberjhani. Full quote is: “Hearts rebuilt from hope resurrect dreams killed by hate.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Rey first sees the woman, she’s nine years old. To the outside world, perhaps, she’s a child – but Rey hasn’t been a child for years. On Jakku, being a child is a weakness she can’t afford._

When Rey first sees the woman, she’s nine years old. To the outside world, perhaps, she’s a child – but Rey hasn’t been a child for years. On Jakku, being a child is a weakness she can’t afford. On Jakku, she’s still young enough for people not to take notice of her, but she already knows how to protect herself. She knows that in a few years, her shape will start to change. Her body will be that of a woman. People will take notice _then_. You can’t afford to be a child at that point.

The woman is tall. She has a strong jaw, curls tied sternly back off her face – but her eyes are gentle when they settle on Rey. It’s a dream – Rey knows that. Her dreams have always been unusually vivid, but in dreams she _can_ afford to be weak, sometimes. But this woman is an imposter to her dream world, and so she stands up taller. She narrows her eyes.

“Who are _you_?” she asks. The woman tilts her head to the side, assessing her. Her lips twitch up in the corners, but it’s not like the way some of the people who work alongside her look at her. There’s no cruelty in her gaze, no hunger, no waiting for a tiny body to give in and be left in the high midday sun – this woman is just trying to figure Rey out. It’s like she’s aware someone small can be strong and wilful, but that it’s unusual.

“Never mind that. What really matters is who _you_ are,” she says, holding out a hand. Rey doesn’t take it, just glares at it before lifting her chin in defiance.

“My name is _Rey_.”

“Rey what?”

That gives Rey a moment of pause. “Rey – just Rey. Rey Nothing.”

That gentle smile wavers, but remains in place, “You remind me of my son, Rey. He’s stubborn, just like you are.”

“Why aren’t you with him?”

The woman’s smile wavers some more, though she keeps it in place as best she can. “I had to leave him. I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to leave, but sometimes people have to.”

Yes – Rey knows that. She knows that better than most people.

“I know. My parents – they’ve been away for one thousand two hundred days. But they’ll be back some day. I just _know_ it, you see.”

The woman looks sad again for a moment before she recovers herself, and she twitches her hand in an odd way. Rey knows the signal, vaguely – it’s the same one Unkar gives her when she’s next in line, dragging a bag as big as she is to him to get what little food he’ll offer. She got a bit more when she was very little – she could crawl into tiny spaces, get better parts. These days, as she gets taller (but not wider) she can’t fit into those tiny spaces any more, so she doesn’t get the nice stuff. She gets _just_ enough.

Or what he claims is just enough, anyway. She doesn’t think it is. It doesn’t stop her from crawling into bed and imagining a better place. An island, a forest – an escape. She steps forwards, towards the woman, who pulls her in close. She doesn’t feel trapped by her arms – she feels safe. This woman holds her tightly and it’s warm and _careful_ , and she wants to snuggle in closer, not find a way out. Perhaps it’s because she’s chosen this – or perhaps it’s because this woman reminds her of another time, with another woman. One who held her close and told her stories. Whether those stories are real memories or just lies she’s made up to make herself feel better doesn’t really matter – the truth or a lie, she needs something to hold onto when it gets cold and she gets lonely.

She feels fingers in her hair, “My son, he was the same age as you are when I had to leave him.”

“Why don’t you go back to him?”

“I can’t,” the woman sighs. “My son, he stopped listening to his dreams a long time ago. He has a gift – we all do, you see. Inside of us. But my son has it stronger than most people, like you do. He hates it, though. He doesn’t cherish it as he should.”

“Why not?”

The woman pauses a moment, “Because, sunshine – some people are frightened when they know something makes them different. But it’s not scary. It’s life. My boy has always been stubborn about such things. Just like me. And his father.”

It seems odd. That someone could have a gift and not appreciate it. Rey’s fairly certain – almost sure, actually – that gifts are _good_ things. It seems strange to not like it, but she admits she doesn’t know much about good things. She learned to stop expecting them many years ago.

The woman hums softly, and sings, and Rey finds that the rest of her sleep is dreamless. The woman keeps her dreams at bay, and when she wakes she finds that she can’t remember her sleep – but it was peaceful, for the first night in a long time.

For many years, her sleep gets better. But everyone reaches an age where dreams do not align with reality – and there is no space for children, or their childish dreams, in the harsh deserts of Jakku.

* * *

Sighing from where she is inside the Falcon, Rey almost hits it with her spanner. She’s been at it for the best part of an hour, to the point that when she hears – and feels – the presence of one Poe Dameron, she almost throws her tools out at him. She’s known him for the best part of a week. There’s something familiar about him, like something she wants to grasp onto but can’t quite hold. It bothers her, but what can she do about it? Aside from throwing her tools at him, willy-nilly, of course. It would solve nothing – bar, perhaps, making her feel better.

“What is it, Dameron?” she asks, and she hears an irritated huff from the other side of the bulkhead.

“The fact you always know it’s me is _slightly_ unnerving, y’know. I was just gonna ask if you wanted caff. I know how tiring it can be to spend your entire day surrounded by nothing but metal, wires and various tools.”

Of course he does. Because he has these grand ideas about how _he’s_ apparently the best pilot in the Resistance. She glances around the bulkhead, cheek smeared with oil, hair more unkempt than she’s let it be in a while – but she has nobody to impress. Even Leia spends half her time a little out of order at the moment and they have bigger worries, anyway. Poe looks at her strangely. She’s tempted to throw her spanner at him just so he looks a little less pretty too, but she figures that concussing one of the Resistance’s star pilots probably wouldn’t go down well with the General.

“No thank you, Poe. I don’t need any caff. I’m busy, anyway. Go ask Chewie if he needs help flying,” she ducks back around the bulkhead. “Provided you’re actually a decent pilot and don’t crash land on Endor.”

The last part is muttered under her breath, but is met with “I heard that!” from Poe.

“Fine!” she called back.

All-in-all, she supposes later on, this is why they end up being the way they are before Exegol – snipping at each other to the point Finn spends most of his life mediating arguments or trying to remind them both that they’re all on the same side.

But Exegol wasn’t the end for them, of course. It was barely even the beginning.


	2. Prologue 2: Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever, my apologies. Been busy, between work and also my birthday and such. 
> 
> I'm self isolating, so I guess my butt is kicked into gear?

When Poe Dameron is seven, his mother dies.

He’s not entirely certain what this means, at first. He knows that she’s been sick, of course. He saw her smiles getting less happy, saw her eyes losing a spark, saw her skin change from bronze to a pale, sickly colour.

And more importantly, he heard his mom talking to his dad.

“ _You can’t let this affect him, Kes. He’s just a child.”_

“ _I know that, Shara. But how do you expect me to act like nothing’s happening? You’re – I – Maker, I love you.”_

His father has done his best to pretend things aren’t different, but Poe’s not stupid. He notices mommy isn’t there any more. Isn’t hurting any more, either, but she’s not there. And then other people start turning up.

First, it’s Luke Skywalker. Once, this would have made Poe get excited. Luke Skywalker is a hero, after all. But he looks sad, and he says ‘sorry’ to his dad, and then Poe’s face crumbles and he asks where mommy is and then Luke Skywalker is hugging him, like he knows him, and his dad has his back to them both, his shoulders shaking.

Next, Han Solo comes with his wife, Leia. She’s the one that whips them into shape, so to speak. She’s kind, but firm, and Han Solo talks to Poe about things other than his mom. It gives him a bit of time where he’s not so sad, and that’s nice.

And their son, Ben, he’s there too. Ben is only four. At first, Poe doesn’t spend much time with Ben, because he’s _only four_ but also because he never smiles or laughs, he always looks serious and not-happy. And Poe’s not-happy either, so they don’t talk.

One day, though, Poe’s sitting on the stairs while they talk about something called ‘a funeral’, and Ben sits next to him. Shoulder to shoulder, because Poe’s short for his age and this other boy is tall. For a minute, they don’t talk, and then Ben takes his hand and looks at him earnestly.

“Your mommy still loves you. She’s sad she can’t be here any more. I can hear her,” he says. Poe wants to know where his mommy is, but when he’d asked his dad, he’d just been told it was somewhere they couldn’t go. The fact that Ben can get there is weird, and he’s just spoken about mommy which in turn makes Poe _sad_ , and he’s crying and Ben’s saying sorry and dad’s hugging him again. And it’s not fair, because all he wants is one of the hugs only mommy gave him – the big tight ones that smelled like fuel and sweat and hard work.

Dad smells like the garden, and it’s a nice smell, but it’s not mommy.

He finds out what a funeral means a few days later. He tries to talk to the people who are watching, but when he stands up and opens his mouth all that comes out is silence, and he looks at his dad who quickly takes him away, back to the front row. Person after person, people Poe’s never met, come up to talk about how wonderful his mother was. What a wonderful son and husband she’d leaving behind.

 _Far too soon_ , they all say. Poe wants to scream.

_If you knew her, why did I never meet you? Why didn’t she talk about you?!_

But he doesn’t. Because it’s starting to sink in that he’ll never see mommy again, and never hug her again. The casket is open, and he’s allowed to go and see it. He stares at her face. She looks like she’s sleeping.

“Mommy. Wake up,” he whispers. Reaches towards her. He wants to throw himself in beside her and curl up real small. “Mommy. Please wake up.”

His dad is crying again when he picks him up and carries him away. The casket with mommy inside is lowered into the ground, and Poe watches as they cover it with dirt.

That night, he goes to his dad’s room. His dad looks up at him, and swallows. He silently lifts up the other side of the blanket and Poe climbs in next to him. Dad nuzzles into his curls and holds him close. “I love you, Poe. Part of her is still here, y’know. In you.”

Poe looks up in confusion, and dad clarifies, “You’re half her, Poe. And you’ve got her heart. You’re our son, and she’s not really gone,” he whispers. Poe snuggles in closer, wrapping his arms around him.

“I love you too, papa. Part of her is still here in you, too,” he says. “Because she gave you her heart.”

He pretends not to hear when his dad starts to cry. Pretends to be asleep. Some things weren’t meant for him, he figures.

For years, he thinks he sees her around corners, or just out of reach in a dream. One time, when he’s in his early twenties and he’s got Zorii next to him, bodies soaked in sweat and halfway between sleep and the waking world, he sees his mother talking to a little girl, one who looks too old for her age and who hangs onto Shara’s every word the same way he once had. But when he blinks awake properly, he knows it’s just a dream and lets sleep take him fully.

Zorii’s hand rests on his heart, just below the ring. But he knows it’ll never be on her finger, because while their time together is pleasant, she’s just…

 _You’ll know when you meet them, Poe_.

He just knows she’s not the one.

* * *

Poe swings around the bottom of the stairs and leans against the wall with a cocky grin. Rey visibly starts from where she’s sat with one of those Jedi texts, and it gives him an odd kind of satisfaction. Whenever he annoys her, she scrunches up her nose just slightly.

It’s unbelievably cute. One day, he intends to take a picture of that exact moment and spend the rest of her life tormenting her with it.

“What do you want, Dameron?” she asks, turning her eyes back down the book.

“Oh, can I not want to spend some time with my favourite Jedi?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes. She rolls her eyes in a cute way too. It’s amazing.

She waves her hand, “Not when she’s busy. Off with you.”

He pouts, “I’m off on a mission, and I get no respect. None at all,” he steps back outside, into the jungle, and Leia rolls her eyes at him.

“You’re just like your father,” she says, and he tilts his head to the side. “Never mind. I’m sure he’ll tell you himself one day.”

And just like that, he’s left alone. In all honesty? It’s one of the last moments of peace before everything goes to shit.


End file.
